Blood Red Sunny Laughter
by LazyFae
Summary: Harry dies long before his time. He meets the Red Lady, who informs him that there was more to his mother's death than just a love filled sacrifice; she agreed to share herself with a demonic being- she also promised Harry upon his death. But he is still at the whims of Fate and prophecy- of course, he can always do both. (Amoral!Harry)
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the general plot and OCs

 **IMPORTANT AND ONLY WARNING:**

This is probably not going to be an extremely dark story but nor is it all light hearted and fluffy. I have no clue where this is going to go yet and thus can't say for certain what it'll contain.

I will say this: If it can be perceived for a person to do something/have something happen to them it may well be in this story

 **This may or may not include:** **Pairings of all genders and ages. Non consensual and dubious consensual content. Violence. Abuse. Character deaths. Angst. Plot holes.** **discrimination and prejudice. excessive fluffiness and icky romance. Much more.**

That's not to say it will definitely have all this in it, however I'm not too interested in skipping or brushing over something because it's uncomfortable if it's relevant to the plot. If it's included I will try to do the topic genuine credit and treat it with the seriousness it deserves as long as it's not a parody/comedy or a character being politically incorrect.

 **The plot and characters do not necessarily reflect my own views** and so if you are horribly offended by what's coming out a characters mouth/mind or their actions, that's fine.

* * *

 **Info you might want to know:**

This is probably going to be a bit of a weird one. I wanted a Harry that was basically untameably wild in his personality. I don't know if that's what I'm going to stick with or what, as the story progresses. Either way, he is going to be amoral throughout the story.

Also I want this to have humour in it, to balance out the dark bits. So this will likely end up being a dark comedy. However again, i dont know if I'm going to stick with that. If I know myself at all, I'd guess some parts will be dark comedy, some parts will be crackish, and some parts will just be dark.

This doc has been sitting in my files for ages now, and I haven't uploaded it unless I was going to commit to regular updates, but I figured what the hell, I will never get round to updating it unless I upload.

Having said that, expect incredibly sporadic updates. I have a bunch of fics which are in the same state in my files and I will pick up and drop them again as time goes on, or favour one to the exclusion of the others for a while before I take a long break from it.

no beta btw

Finally let me know what works for you, what doesn't, or just what you think in general! As well as anything you'd like to see in the fic going forward.

* * *

 **Chapter 1 - Year One Of Three Hundred**

In the unexpected moment of silence -which replaced the squeal of tires against the wet tarmac road, the numb shock as metal collided with flesh, the wind carding through messy hair, the weightless feeling of falling through the air, the odd sensation of skin and muscle and bone being ripped and shattered and left in bloody smears along the ground- Harry snapped open his eyes.

He hadn't had more than half a second to think of anything in the time between spotting the oncoming vehicle and bracing for imminent impact, but if he had had time for thought more eloquent than 'oh crap', it probably would have been to bitterly consider the irony that he had been the sole survivor of a car crash, and often told he should have died alongside his parents, only to die by another car less than a decade later. He might then have gone on to ponder how on earth he managed to be in the road in front of the library in the first place when moments earlier he had been frantically running away from his pig of a cousin and said pig's lackeys by the park. But as it was, he only had a brief flash of shock when he saw the car before he closed his eyes shut tight and grit his teeth and... Then nothing.

It wasn't white. That was the first thing he noted when opened his eyes and looked around. It wasn't white, or cloudy, and there were certainly no pearly gates or angels, like the teacher had promised if he ate his vegetables every time. Well actually she'd promised the boy next to him before sparing Harry a scowl. Harry hardly needed persuading to eat his vegetables or any food that he was lucky enough to have time to identify before he was shovelling it in his mouth as fast as possible in case it was taken away from him.

So he wasn't in heaven and he definitely wasn't still in Little Whinging. He briefly considered hell, but there was no fire either, no smell of sulphur and no screams of anguish or demons who delighted in torturing cackling madly. Everything was just sort of... Grey. A little bit dreary really. Nothing but a vast stretch of grey. Harry hoped to everything that this was not the full extent of death. The idea of being dead did not particularly distress the boy very much, since as far as he was concerned he was still himself and life had not been very interesting or enjoyable, although now death was looking to be even more dull than living, if less stressful.

He crossed his legs and placed his chin in his palm despondently, whilst wondering if he was sitting down or perhaps hovering, since there seemed to be no floor in the first place. Did that mean he hadn't actually been standing just now, but rather floating? Well it hardly mattered. It was all rather dull anyway. There was a pleasant sounding chuckle behind him and Harry spun around, only to be confronted by what seemed to be a hospital room and a bed, filled with someone who was apparently unconscious.

Before he could get a close look at the small unconscious stranger in the hospital bed, Harry's attention was grabbed by the woman sitting gracefully in the corner. She had red hair and green eyes and a kind smile. Harry was sure he remembered her from somewhere but he just wasn't sure where. Perhaps it something to do with the occasional warm feelings he would get as he drifted off to sleep and an echo of an echo of a singing voice would creep through his mind. He wondered whether he should be wary of this not stranger, but then decided to hell with it, he was already dead. He offered her a tentative smile, not used to using those particular facial muscles much. The red lady smiled a radiant smile in reply. Everything about her from her stunning too-green eyes, to her adoring expression and her simple elegance that shone through even in the way she sat, made Harry like her immediately. Far more than he had ever liked anyone.

"Hello, sweetheart," the lady's gentle voice with smoky undertones warmed Harry's heart, as did the unexpected endearment. He thought that if he could love anyone on sight it would be her.

He tilted his head adorably, "hello miss. Where are we?" She gave him an approving look which he basked in like a flower deprived of sunlight.

"That has more than one answer sweetheart. You ask the smart questions," she complimented him, and he smiled with confused pride.

"You died love. This is... one path of the dead. A highly unusual one. But then you are a special, precious child," she smiled fondly at him upon seeing his worried expression, "it is a good thing. Do not worry sweetheart. Death truly is magnanimous. Life is just a test in which there are no wrong answers and our deaths are the outcome."

Harry chewed his lip thoughtfully. He didn't want to appear stupid in front of this lovely lady, but he thought she wouldn't mind him asking some more questions. She seemed to have endless patience. He supposed that one did when one was dead.

"I'm sorry. I'm not sure I understand," he peered through his lashes nervously, but she didn't seem vexed by his admission like his family or teachers or neighbours would. If anything she seemed delighted that he had spoken.

"What do you know of the afterlife sweet child," she encouraged with a smile.

Harry fidgeted as he stumbled over his answer, "if you're good you go to heaven where it's happy and lovely and if you're bad or a perver-perversion you go to hell where you suffer forever."

She beamed at him as though he'd just proved her right that he was a genius, "well done. It works a little differently to that in reality," she beckoned to him, and he approached slowly, until he was sat next to her, with one hand held in her lap and her other arm around his shoulder.

"When someone dies, there are many different options for what can happen to them. It depends on what they're good at, what makes them passionate, what kind of lives they have lead, what they're capable of. There are many different layers of reality. You gave me two examples; heaven and hell. They don't really exist, but similar enough versions of them do. Earth is one reality, and some people are sent back there to start again as babies, or slightly changed to be able to do something. Some people who die are gifted with abilities to help them do that thing. Some are simply happy to move onto a different reality and continue living as themselves but just in a slightly different society. There are many possibilities for after death. This is one. Do you understand so far?"

Harry nodded, frowning slightly, "sort of. So what sort of things do they do? And who gives them these things? What if they don't like the changes? And does that mean no one ever gets any rest after they're born? You just have to keep... going?"

The red lady gave him a kiss on the temple as she chuckled her pleasant chuckle again, "all excellent questions sweetheart. Everyone's purpose is different, and they all serve some meaning in the grand scheme of things, even if it is difficult to see initially. But every little cog works together to help the large and complicated system continue running smoothly. The possibilities and purposes are so vast that it would be impossible to state them all.

"But they give us all what will make us feel fulfilment, or the chance to do so. And the one who judges our souls and our lives to choose a next existence is Death. They are the Being who runs everything alongside Life. Life oversees the development of the individuals who have been given a purpose and the creation of new souls, they often direct projects such as the formation of new galaxies and planets and realities. They both work together and each contribute many different things to the system. If someone changes enough that their path no longer suits them, they may be given a new one, or their function leads to their death, as it so often does when you are unsuited, and it leads to a new path."

Harry let out a steady breath as he tried (and failed) to wrap his head around this seemingly limitless, timeless, concept. The red lady smiled and carded her fingers lovingly through the hair at the nape of his neck.

"It sounds tiring," he finally settled for. She hummed in amusement.

"If you get tired of being yourself, you can be changed, so that your mind is expanded and freed from bodily restraints, or you can start again as a newborn. There are limitless possibilities and it often means that no path is ever really the same. Not exactly anyway. But there are numerous categories that people generally fit into in their roles."

Harry fiddled with his shirt as he thought of how to ask his next question, uncertain if it would be considered rude. He really didn't want to upset this nice lady.

"What's your purpose then?" He asked nervously. She chuckled and gave his hand a small squeeze.

"This is a part of it. My path is a little unusual too. Not as strange as yours though."

Harry looked at his lap, wondering why he felt upset, until he realised that whilst he had wanted the red lady to be here because she wanted to be, because she liked him, she was just following her path. She seemed to know what he was thinking and placed a finger under his chin to tilt his head. Her eyes glowed benevolently at him.

"I am here because I want to be sweetheart. I am here because I love you, just as much as because it is my path. All will be explained to you child." She kissed his forehead and held him closer. Harry decided that there was no question about it, he adored the red lady. No one had ever been this nice or gentle to him before.

"So, what is my path and how is it so odd if everyone is different?" He wasn't sure he liked the idea of being a freak even after death.

"Your path was not chosen for you based upon your character and your life. It was chosen for you when you were still but a baby. This is very rarely done. Especially to an innocent such as yourself, and especially to one who was given no choice for their path before death already by Fate."

Harry leaned more into her side, unsure whether this was a good or a bad thing for him, but certain that he didn't really understand.

"To explain all I must tell you some truths which you may find hard to believe. But please trust me sweetheart. I promise I will not lie to you. In the reality from which you came, there was a hidden world of witches and wizards who could perform magic, and they lived amongst themselves with their own customs and traditions, their own government, schools, transport, technology and fashion, even their own magical animals. Your parents came from this society."

Harry's breath had frozen in his throat and his eyes had widened, "w-what? But-but what about Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. They're not... Magical are they? They always said it doesn't exist."

For the first time a mildly unpleasant expression crossed the red lady's face, as her lips pursed and her brow tightened.

"They are not magical, no. But they lied to you about everything else because they are frightened of that which they cannot do. Thus they live a life of denial and force you to live one too. They know you are a child of magic but they would deny you your right if they had their own way. They are ignorant of the wonders their world can provide. It is rather pitiful. When you are eleven the other witches and wizards will come for you to teach you their ways so that you can live amongst them. Your aunt and uncle will have no say in that."

Harry's young mind was spinning with this overload of information, more than when he was told about the afterlife. He had a million questions buzzing through his mind, but couldn't grasp any for long enough to ask them. The red lady sensed this and stroked his hand with her thumb fondly.

"But you are dead now sweetheart. And things will change slightly. Don't worry child, you will still have the opportunity to learn the way of magic. But you will be on your path before death and after death at the same time. First I must explain more about the world of magic and your parent's deaths. Your mother was born of two non magical beings, known as muggles to the magical people, and your father had a long ancestry of magical beings in his past, he was considered to be a pureblood to witches and wizards. Your mother was a talented muggleborn. But their world was in a state of unrest and turbulence due to one man who called himself Voldemort."

Harry stifled a giggle at the name, and the red lady laughed too, glad at his ability to laugh at a name others feared too much to utter.

"Yes it is rather odd. But he had many purebloods and some halfbloods, like you, who followed him. He believed in a wizarding world that was free of muggleborns. He believed, you see, that muggleborns did not deserve to learn magic because they were born of muggles, who were looked down upon as lesser beings. Barely human all because they couldn't perform magic. Wizards and witches are largely uninformed of muggle ways, and so it is a hatred caused by ignorance. Voldemort is himself a halfblood, but he does not share this fact widely, although I am not sure what good it would do now if it was, for he is too feared, and the purebloods who might have looked down upon him follow him for the power he gives them over others, and his ancestry which allows him to control snakes, an animal viewed with fear or awe as well.

"He was tyrannical, and he killed people without thought. He enjoyed the power one held over another when they were tortured. He wanted to be both feared and worshipped. He wanted to rule the wizarding world, and use it to wage a war against muggles. One which he would inevitably lose mind, because muggles far outnumber wizards. Muggles have technology that most magical people do not understand or know of. Muggles have more brains on their side. War would only expose the hidden world and lead to its destruction."

Harry twisted his features in disgust, "he sounds like an idiot." The red lady laughed loud and long and Harry revelled in the smoky sound.

"He was remarkably intelligent in many ways sweetheart. But yes, in many ways he was also an idiot. He only bothered to learn what he saw as immediately useful, that he could use to strike fear in the hearts of wizards, and to avoid his own demise. He did not learn many things which could be used against him because he did not see it's worth. Love, friendship, trust, anything that might involve other realities or is taught by muggles. All things he scoffs at. But love can be used in some of the oldest and most powerful magics. Nevertheless, he seemed unstoppable at the time. Until a prophecy came into play that predicted his possible downfall at the hands of a child born at the time you were."

A chill went down his spine and he suddenly wasn't sure if he wanted to hear the rest of the story. Again, the red lady seemed to sense this and rubbed his arm comfortingly.

"You and another baby fit the prophecy. But you were a halfblood, as was Voldemort, and he saw you as most likely to be his equal. So he went to kill you and charged his followers with taking care of the other baby. Your parents tried to hide. And they succeeded for a while, but there was a traitor in their midst and so they had to keep running or Voldemort would catch up. Finally they hid behind magic that was powerful enough to hide even the knowledge and the ability to speak of where they were, however they gave the secret to the traitor to take care of and share to only those who were trusted. He gave the secret to Voldemort, who came and killed your father and mother. He tried to kill you, but it failed, and his body was destroyed instead."

Harry wondered whether he should feel awfully upset at hearing the truth of his parent's deaths, but instead he was wondering if it was possible to see his father and mother in the afterlife. Perhaps they were waiting for him?

"By all accounts the curse he aimed at you should have worked. And it would have killed any other, but your mother had had access to the vast library that lay in the bank vault belonging to a notoriously dark family called the Blacks. Sirius Black is your godfather, though he is the only light wizard for some generations in his family. She wanted to provide more protection to you, in case they were caught. So she cast an ancient spell and fed you a potion lost to time based upon a sacrifice made out of strong personal love. When you were hit by the curse, if she had not already sacrificed herself she would have died anyway and taken your place. As it was, the ancient blood magic came at a cost, as with most ancient magics.

"You died, and you were tied to a deamon spirit who claimed you as their own, allowing you to come back to life with their mark on your forehead as their claim. Though you do not remember this."

Here she gently stroked Harry's scar, which sent an odd tingle through it that was actually quite nice. He pushed his head reflexively closer to the finger, but the red lady chuckled and pulled her finger away.

"Ah that is not really mine to touch sweetheart, forgive me. You must remember child, your mother hoped when she performed this blood magic that you would live a long and prosperous life before you died a second time. She did not expect you to die again so young. We, on the other hand, believed you would live until you were 17 before you died again. But that is not the way it worked out. We had hoped you would at least have a longer life than this. Alas, there is nothing to do but continue with the path your mother created for you."

"I'm sorry miss, I'm not sure I understand what you mean," Harry nibbled his lip.

"The payment for giving you protection from death, besides her own life, was that she would not be judged after death based upon her character and life. She sacrificed that, and pledged herself to one of us. We are spirits from another reality, one which is much more chaotic and bloodthirsty. We do not revel in destruction, per say, but we enjoy the changes that can occur from having the status quo shaken up by chaos. She used magic that came to us for protection, which was granted, and in payment, she agreed to share herself for one of us. We merged once she died, I became her, giving myself more power to move around between realities and create chaos, and she became me, sharing her being and personality and thoughts and past. She promised to serve our cause for a thousand years before a new path was chosen for us both. She promised to share herself forever."

Harry's mouth had gone suddenly dry, and he looked up at the red lady with both hope and caution, "y-you're my mum?" She smiled with a tinge of sadness and kissed his forehead again.

"Whether I am still your mother is debatable. This is certainly what her body looked like. I have her memories, and her love for you. But I have also the memories of a daemon spirit, which are much more powerful and span much more time. I have different priorities than your mother would. It would be better to continue to think of me as the red lady."

Harry nodded, a slight ache in his heart that hadn't been there before, and he didn't even bother to ask how the red lady knew what he was thinking. While the red lady may not be his mother, he decided she was the closest to one that he was going to get, and knew he would love her like one any ways.

"There was another consequence to your mother's actions. And it is that she pledged you to us for three hundred years after your second death. Your body and mind to be shared by another one of our kind, and to serve our nature for that length of time, before you may separate if you so choose, and then you may be given a new path if you wish."

Harry thought he should perhaps be more angry or distressed at this development, but he was too burned out by the influx of new information to do more than allow himself to be swept along by this unstoppable tide of events. He merely sighed and nodded, drawing comfort from the red lady's proximity.

"You will be placed back where you are from. Back to being Harry Potter. You may fulfil the prophecy and then continue our work. This reality could do with a bit of chaos. You will not have all the answers straight away, but you will be driven by the pleasure you gain from tricking and lying and playing with people. You will find enjoyment in things you would have previously been frightened by or shied away from. You will also have gifts that you grow into, which will aid you as you learn to use them creatively. Are you prepared for this sweetheart?"

Harry thought it was somewhat of a rhetorical question, but nodded anyway, resigned to his fate. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad.

"What if I die again?" He asked, maybe he could spend time with the red lady if he did. She squeezed him as he thought this and smiled her lovely smile.

"It will become much harder to kill you child. But if you do manage to die, you will be able to find your way back. I may lend a hand if it is needed."

Harry sighed and nodded. He wanted to make the red lady proud, and if that meant doing this for three hundred years, then so be it. Although it did seem like an awfully long time, if he spent all his time doing what he found enjoyment in, he supposed it might not be too awful.

"Well done child. You are such a good boy. Now, we have spent enough time here. It is time to find yourself back in your reality," she kissed him once again on his forehead, this time in goodbye, and Harry felt it tingle all the way through his mind, gathering especially in his scar. His eyes shot wide and his breath caught in his throat.

It felt as though his mind was leaking out of his brain and floating in the air around him, expanding and contracting and parting and coming together again. His lungs became fuller and fuller and fuller until it felt as though they couldn't possibly be his lungs any more and this couldn't possibly be his body because he was not confined to his body. He was thought and energy, which crackled and leapt through his midst, warping and seeking. He was a mind and a soul and magic all tangled together in a chaotically beautiful dance. And then there was something else that was bleeding into him. It was sharp edges and soft playfulness. It was dangerous and friendly, it was vicious and full of blood tinged laughter filled with a beguiling joy reminiscent of summer days. It eased its way as a cool trickle and gentle caress that was at once his ally. Once it had bled into every fibre of his being, he finally found enough of himself to think a greeting to his new addition in an overwhelmed whisper.

As though in reply, a burst of glorious flame and electricity yanked him down and down and down, spiralling, spinning, twisting, merging until it was him and he was it. The fire became brighter and brighter. And he was sharp edges and thought. He was soft playfulness and crackling energy. He was dangerous and friendly. He was soul and magic. His mind was beguilingly vicious and full of bloody summer tinged laughter. All tangled together in the most beautifully chaotic dance. He felt himself rapidly falling back down still, until the white fire blocked out everything else. He slammed back into his body and brain with incredible force, he absently felt the red lady's lips still at his forehead and her arm still round him.

He thought he felt her whisper against his skin, before the white fire overwhelmed even that. He snapped opened his eyes, able to feel his lungs moving again in a ragged gasp. His skin buzzing slightly from where he thought he'd felt the red lady's touch. Flicking his eyes around, he realised he was still in the hospital room, lying in the bed.

A heart monitor beeped away steadily beside him and he was half covered in bandages. He glanced into the corner but the red lady who was both his mother and now his Sister was no where to be seen.

With a mischievous smile, Harry yanked the wires off him so that the heart monitor flatlined with an ominous sound, and leapt out of bed giggling to himself. Oh the possibilities in a hospital were endless. He was going to have so much fun!

* * *

 _So... that happened. Apologies if the explanation of the afterlife is weird and confusing. To be honest, I doubt it will be all that important later on. I just wanted to give some whys about what happened to him._


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the general plot and the OCs

Still have no idea where this is going. I reckon I'll just try to make it as weird and unlikely as possible and see where it takes me. Hopefully somewhere absurd. Still on the prewritten ages ago parts.

I've decided Harry will have gotten up to some weird stuff in the years between dying and Hogwarts, I'm not sure what yet, but it will probably become part of the story at some point.

:this is parseltongue speaking:

no beta

let me know what works, what doesn't work so well for you, or just any thoughts. As well as any prompts for what you'd like to see.

* * *

 **Chapter 2 - Year One Of Seven**

Ever since ten year old Harry Potter had come up in a discussion between neighbours in Little Whinging, the neighbourhood had thought of him as a trouble maker. The worst kind of child. Inherently bad. But they would put up with him out of the kindness of their heart and hope that one day he would straighten himself out and be good, like their own children. In the mean time they would click their teeth and shake their heads when he was mentioned. They would glare at him and watch him cautiously when he was in the vicinity lest something troublesome happened because of him.

It never occurred to them that he had rarely actually been caught doing something wrong by anybody. But their children's school troubles were often blamed on him, unfortunate happenstances that took place by the actions of a hungry fox or two squabbling dogs or some naughty children were placed upon his shoulders when discovered. The time he had ended up on the roof, and had changed his teacher's wig was just enough to firmly solidify his reputation.

Before, Harry Potter had been the unspoken blight of the neighbourhood. But then the child had been hit by a car, and they hoped that his behaviour would have been improved during his time in the hospital, and afterward recovering. However now he was rarely thought about. Of course he was still a trouble maker, not even a car could knock some sense into him, but he was not the unspoken blight of Little Whinging anymore.

It was the awfully strange luck that seemed to plague the neighbourhood for the past year. Things tended to happen that caused a disastrous amount of chaos to all that resided there, whether it was caused by something good happening to the wrong person at the wrong time, or something bad happening at the most inconvenient point. And despite their initial suspicions, little Harry Potter could not be at fault for all this, because it started when he was still largely immobile in the hospital. The rate at which people moved out of the place had trebled. And there was something about the school that frightened the children and teachers, but they would not say.

This meant that when a loud scream erupted from number four Privet Drive, people barely even paused in their activities to look toward the house, before ignoring it altogether.

In the kitchen of the house, Aunt Petunia was whimpering and sobbing over Dudley Dursley, who was desperately scratching at his throat and rapidly turning from red to blue, tears leaking down his cheeks.

"Vernon do something!" She shrieked hysterically at her husband, who was purple with both fear and anger.

He was not hovering uselessly over Dudley however, but attempting to maintain his glare at the other boy across the table. Harry calmly sipped his orange juice and quirked an eyebrow with a small smirk. He could practically smell the mounting terror and pressure in the room, the sweat beading on his uncle's forehead was a sight to see as he began to rapidly lose composure, listening to his son choke and struggle to breathe.

"I just want my letter back uncle," Harry gave an innocent smile and widened his eyes to appear younger than he was. Aunt Petunia attempted to slap Dudley on the back and clear his airways, but merely ended up knocking the boy against the wall, which he bounced off of. Harry giggled, amused by the fact that his cousins fat allowed him to actually bounce, and Vernon finally snapped. Harry suspected it was the giggle.

"Fine have your damn letter! Just stop hurting Dudley! Stop it now!" Harry eagerly snatched the letter from his uncle's hammy fist and skipped happily up to Dudley.

"Thank you," he grinned in a singsong voice that caused both adults to shudder. Aunt Petunia backed away from him and pointed a trembling finger at her son.

"Fix this! Please, help him," she begged, on the verge of hyperventilating. Harry gave a mock bow, before his cheeky grin returned to his face and he flicked Dudley on the back of the head.

Dudley began to cough before a disgusting chunk of half chewed bacon spat out of his mouth, and the boy desperately sucked in some much needed air, his nose and eyes still running. Harry wrinkled his nose and tutted disapprovingly.

"You should learn to chew your food properly cousin," he scolded, before being unable to hold back a delighted laugh at his cousin's expense, "ciao! Don't wait up dear Aunt and dear Uncle." He called over his shoulder as he left the house. Vernon and Petunia Dursley stayed frozen in position, until they heard their door knocker squeak and fall off the door with a bang, a sure sign the boy was truly gone and not tricking them again.

* * *

Harry walked up to Mr Hailes, who was busy pruning his roses in the front garden, "good morning Mr. Hailes," he greeted shyly. His Art teacher looked up suspiciously at the child and grunted in reply. Mr. Hailes did not like Harry Potter at all, and went out of his way to berate and criticise all pieces of artwork Harry ever did. It did not help that Harry enjoyed drawing about things that did not exist, such as monsters which lived at the heart of a volcano, and creatures under a red sea that captured and drowned lone children at the beach. He had consistently failed the boy for years now.

He eyed Harry's hands warily, as they seemed to cup something in between them. He dreaded to think which poor animal the boy might be tormenting.

"What are you holding?" He snapped sharply. Harry's too-green eyes lit up in excitement.

"Oh I'm glad you asked Mr. Haile, you see I found something and I don't know what it is. I was hoping you might take a look at it." He offered his clasped hands out with a hopeful look on his face. Mr. Haile narrowed his eyes, on one hand he wanted to catch the boy doing something he shouldn't so he could have him punished, but on the other he didn't trust this not to be some sort of trick. However, eventually his wish to see Harry in trouble won out over his suspicion, and he edged closer to lean over the child's hands.

Harry opened his hands slowly, and Mr. Haile frowned in confusion and disgust. It was a small sliver of something black and oily, yet it emitted a soft glow of light and seemed to wriggled and convulse and reach out to grab what it could not find. Mr. Haile opened his mouth to express his revulsion in the most acerbic manner possible. But before he could take a breath, the sliver shot out of Harry's hands and into his mouth. Mr. Haile bent over and shuddered violently as the wriggling thing slid down his throat.

"I hate it when you do that, boy. It's the most vile experience," He rasped out in between coughs, before straightening up, his red eyes glancing down at Harry with a mixture of distaste and caution, "am I in the body of an old muggle man? How foul."

Harry tilted his head and pursed his lips in suppressed humour, "come now Marvolo. You know I don't trust you in a body capable of magic. What if you decided to try and leave me? I couldn't have that. I need to keep you around when you aren't in my head."

Marvolo sneered, "so you can easily kill me when I become inconvenient you mean."

Harry beamed at the man, "exactly!" He chirped happily. He patted the man's cheek, ignoring his flinch, "cheer up Marvolo, you know it's inevitable. I'm never going to give you a magical body you can overcome, and you can't do anything to me in the meantime because you aren't capable of performing magic on your own. You're too weak."

Marvolo hissed, incensed at the insult, "I'm strong enough to cause you pain boy, if I so wish. Torturous pain that will leave you begging for mercy! And I still have my ability to command snakes. Be careful of what you say to me."

Harry threw his head back and laughed, much to Marvolo's displeasure, "Marv, you do say the funniest things sometimes. You know as well as I that I'd kill you if you hurt me. And I decided to keep your snake talking ability for myself."

Marvolo bristled in outrage, but Harry ignored him, "well I think it's a fair bargain. I let you live until you're the last soul piece left, I allow you to watch this 'Dumbledore's' death, I cure you of your insanity, and you give me everything you are capable of, and never cause me pain or betray me to another you. That was what we agreed upon a year ago when I found you leeching off me in a rather rude manner without even asking first."

Marvolo bared his teeth angrily, "you forced me to agree or you would have killed me on the spot. It was blackmail, not a fair bargain."

Harry shrugged, "eh, you say potayto, I say potential weapon of mass destruction. Oh come on Marvolo, lighten up! We're going to have some fun."

"I hope Voldemort destroys you boy." Harry made puppy eyes at the red eyed man, until he looked away with a scowl muttering under his breath about devil children.

"Fine, what do you want from me you insufferable brat," he finally growled.

"I want you to tell me how to get to Diagon Alley and get my school things," Harry bobbed up and down excitedly, a huge smile on his face.

Marvolo's eyes shined at the thought of finally being among his own kind again, and he gave a vicious smirk, "I can tell you more than just about Diagon Alley boy."

Harry whooped and rather ruined Marvolo's evil look by throwing his arms around the man's middle, much to his horror.

Sometime later, Mr. Haile groggily opened his eyes, and sat up from where he was lying on the ground, a headache pounding behind his eyes and his mouth tasting like ash and metal. He groaned piteously at the various protests his muscles voiced and tried to recall what had happened. He remembered pruning his roses, and then nothing. Maybe he was dehydrated.

He stood up slowly, before he noticed something that made him shriek loudly and clutch his hair in emotional anguish. His prize rose bushes had been ripped out of the ground and pruned to death. All the rose heads lined up like some twisted love note. Caught up in his shocked disbelief, he didn't notice the childish cackle that seemed to float through in the wind quietly.

* * *

Harry wandered quietly into the Leaky Cauldron, ducking his head to avoid eye contact and hide the naughty grin on his face. He'd nabbed the wizard's wand from his back pocket in order to open the entrance. He figured the guy would still be there when he got back, since he was passed out in a corner drunk at noon. By the thick wafts of melancholy coming off the man, and the dreams Harry had caught a glimpse of, the man had been left by his wife for his younger, better looking, wealthier, more successful in bed brother. Harry had replaced the wand with a porn magazine, in the hopes that the guy might get a hint about why he kept 'accidentally' checking out guys throughout his marriage. Whoever said Harry wasn't nice clearly had no idea what they were talking about.

He tapped the bricks in the order Marvolo had told him to, and entered Diagon Alley with a look of wicked glee. This place had so much potential for trouble! Wizards and witches called muggles oblivious because of their tendency to explain away magic, but magical people had their own brand of obliviousness. For people who wielded and immersed themselves in an unpredictable and near limitless force, they were ridiculously narrow minded and stuck in their preconceived notions. They were horribly unimaginative.

Harry couldn't wait to blow their whole world apart piece by piece.

A familiar nudge against his mind reminded him to stop looking around and get going. He had a lot to do today. But first things first, he had some money to get from his vault. He entered the bank, resisting the urge to rub his hands together. The warning above the entrance came across as a challenge to him, and he determined then and there that he was going to be the first to rob it before his school years were up.

Walking up to a goblin he saw that they looked remarkably similar to the little ground diggers that frequently waged war on their cities from his other old home reality, just for the excuse of pillaging and leaving again. They had been rather fun and crafty buggers, and occasionally he had helped them steal and burn down the buildings in return for a night of drinking, dancing, singing and fighting amongst them. Because boy did they know how to party.

"Hello sir," He gave his best puppy dog eyes at the teller, who sneered in response.

"Yes, what," He demanded curtly.

"I've never been here before. But I just found out recently that mum and dad were magical and they might have left some things for me. I was wondering if you could find out about that."

The goblin looked down at Harry with a deep grimace, that would have made a lesser person uncomfortable. Harry on the other hand, smiled casually back at the goblin and tapped his fingers comfortably on the desk top.

"Do you have a key?"

"Nope."

The goblin bared his teeth in an irritated snarl and replied with contempt, "what is your name then, boy."

"Harry," he smiled innocently up at the goblin, knowing that he was being deliberately obnoxious.

"Family name," the goblin's voice came out as a low angry rumble.

"Potter." The goblin's eyes flicked quickly up to Harry's half hidden scar and back down. It was barely noticeable, but Harry caught the action, and narrowed his eyes.

"You know of me. How." It wasn't a question but a command, and the goblin's eyes widened at the sudden shift in the boy's demeanour. There was madness lurking below the depths of those eyes.

"You are famous Mr. Potter. I suggest you look yourself up in the history books." The goblin shifted uncomfortably, suddenly wishing the irritatingly playful child to come back, instead of this sharp dangerous character, "you have an account manager who will discuss your vaults with you and give you a key once you provide proof of identity through blood. Come with me."

Like a flip of a switch Harry was back to smiling happily at the goblin, "oh good! Lead the way, old chap."

The goblin shuddered at the disconcerting change, and lead the way to back offices.

An hour and a half later, Harry triumphantly skipped out of the bank, three hundred gallons heavier, leaving behind an exhausted and stressed account manager. The boy had chatted the goblin's ear off, and it had taken a full forty minutes before the poor creature realised the boy had cottoned on immediately to its hangover and was now both taking the piss and taking advantage of its slower mental state that afternoon. It got exponentially worse from there.

As a result, Harry had managed to convince the fellow to open his family vault to Harry six years early (which he had emptied of books), give him access to the Black family vault (which he had also emptied of books), Sirius Black's and Bellatrix Lestrange's personal vault due to the fact that Harry had technically barely managed to have a toe in the door to be in the running for Black heirship, due to his godfather being incarcerated shortly before the man's parents' deaths but never fully disowned. He now was the heir to both the ancient and noble House of Black, and the ancient House of Potter. He had four properties, one of which was destroyed, and more money than he was ever likely to use. Some of these things really shouldn't have been legally done.

On top of that Harry had unknowingly placed himself on the number one top priority client for the goblins. Not because he was that important of course, but because he was clearly the client most capable of making life inexhaustibly difficult for the short tempered creatures, and they wanted him in and out of their bank as fast as humanly possible in the future.

Harry flitted in and out of shops at whirlwind speed, leaving behind befuddled shop keepers and harassed customers. He bought robes, a trunk that was capable of containing a library in one of its three compartments, twice as many potion ingredients than needed, any and all books that caught his fancy, a rather cheeky, foul mouthed 14 inch snake, appropriately named Tiny, that could wrap twice around his wrist comfortably. On top of hundreds of other odd little bits and bobs from various shops that either fascinated him or he thought could be useful for wreaking havoc if applied properly.

Finally he went to get a wand. Entering the dusty looking shop, his presence announced by a bell, Harry looked around curiously. He felt a presence in the corner of the shop, but ignored it when it didn't seem to be a threat.

When Mr. Ollivander finally announced himself, Harry just chirruped a hello in reply. This was clearly a fellow joker, who got their kicks out of creeping out children with his mysterious all knowing ways. They spent a moment eyeing each other, assessing each other, before simultaneously breaking out into familiar knowing smiles, as though they'd known each other for some time and were sharing an inside joke.

"You aren't what I expected Mr. Potter. Not at all. I dare say you'll give the staff at Hogwarts quite a shock," the old man stated with an amused tone.

"I should hope I do, multiple shocks. Hmm that's quite a good idea. A bespelled shock on all the cutlery at the teacher's table. A nice soft warm up I think. Thank you Mr. Ollivander."

The old man gave a quiet whispery laugh and shook his head, "well now, hold out your wand hand and let yourself be led to the right wand. Just follow the pull."

Harry pouted, "don't I get to wave half the wands about making myself look silly, and get myself measured and the whole deal? That's what I'd been informed would happen."

Ollivander gave Harry a pointed look, but his lips twitched, "and give you an excuse to wreck half my shop? I don't think so, Mr. Potter. I'd quite like you in and out as fast as possible."

Harry gave Ollivander a mischievous grin, "now now, sir, let's keep this child friendly. I'm only eleven despite how mature I seem."

Ollivander tutted at Harry's humour and urged him to find his wand. Harry held his hand out and felt a soft pull from his magic in the direction of the back of the shop. He let his hand guide him and closed his eyes, twisting left and right slightly until he got to the right shelf. He finally picked up one of the old dusty boxes, and took the wand out at Ollivander's suggestion. The wand emitted silver sparks upon picking it up and Harry sighed, feeling as though he'd found a piece of himself he hadn't known he'd been missing.

"Phoenix feather core, holly, 11 inches. Your wand and You-know-who's wand share brother cores your know."

Harry tilted his head, "brothers?"

"The same Phoenix shared two feathers," Ollivander looked solemnly at Harry, as the boy pondered this information whilst he payed.

"Huh, well I'll look that up in the two wand lore books I got. Thanks Ollivander, I'll visit sometime," Harry saluted casually with his wand as he left, and subsequently set the display on fire, broke the bell on the door, cracked the shelves and put scorch marks on the desk.

There was a pause, in which Harry's eyes glinted merrily and Ollivander looked exasperatedly at the boy, "please don't ever visit me Mr. Potter. I fear you'd destroy this shop entirely."

"Oops," he smirked, and left with shop with a loud laugh.

:Well Tiny, an entire two hours to take a look down the infamous knockturn alley. This ought to be fun: he murmured under his breath to the little snake, who had somehow managed to get himself under the hood of his jacket and wrapped up comfortably in his unruly locks.

:I'm sleeping brat: Tiny hissed in reply grumpily, causing Harry to smile fondly. Looking back at the ominous alleyway, filled with all sorts of disreputable beings, Harry's fond smile twisted into a baring of his teeth in anticipation.

He was sure to find all sorts of naughty little gems down there.

* * *

 _So yeah... still don't know what to think about this story. Next up Hogwarts introduction._


End file.
